


Memory Chips

by SoloShikigami



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloShikigami/pseuds/SoloShikigami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A horrible accident leave Simmons a few chips short of a motherboard. Grif is heartbroken that he has been forgotten, but he is left wondering if it might be for the best anyhow.<br/>Flashback of an abusive family member in Chapter 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well, it *was* a normal day...

**Author's Note:**

> The last Red vs. Blue fic from LJ. Written back in 2009 and during Nano, so... yeah.

            “This sucks,” Grif grumbled, trying to make his shots despite the explosions around him.

 

            “Somehow, I just know this is your fault, Grif,” Simmons replied.

 

            “Screw you, man.”

 

            Beneath the helmets, each man knew the other was smiling behind the visor. Their bickering was as natural as breathing by now and the insults never really stung as it would other people.

 

            The Reds and the Blues were fighting together today, the crazy reds and blue from the alternate dimension Sarge and Caboose got lost in had found a way to Blood Gulch. The had found the transporter Simmons had fixed back when O'Malley's escape had caused them to split up. Somehow, they have decided to work together to steal the flags from both of the Blood Gulch Red and Blue teams.

 

            Of course, neither the Reds nor the Blues were none too keen on the idea of being killed, and so decided that working together was their only way out of this mess.

 

            Now they had managed to back their foes up to the caves; the Blood Gulch crew may have been outnumbered, but their firepower vastly outmatched their opponents.

 

            “Whoo hoo! We got them on the run!” Tucker whooped when their enemies kept falling back to the point where they were practically running away.

 

            “Let's go get 'em!” Donut hollered, running after the target in his over excitement.

 

            “Donut! Wait! That's an order!” Sarge barked.

 

            “Come back, Private Pound Cake!” Caboose wailed, following Donut. “I'll get him!”

 

            “Don't let him help!” Simmons cried, knowing all too well about Caboose and his tendency to team kill, and he didn't want the Blues to have the superior soldier count and end up with the upper hand later.

 

            “No, Caboose!” Church sighed with his usual grumble. “God damn it, that fucking idiot. I'm going to kill him!”

 

            “Why us?” Grif complained.

 

            “Shut up, jackass,” Simmons sighed. “We should have tied those two up and left them at the base.”

 

            “Yeah, Donut might have liked that too much, though,” Grif replied as both teams moved further into the cave to go after their overzealous teammates.

 

            “Quiet down, you bunch of girls,” Sarge snapped at them.

 

            They went deeper into the caves than they had gone before, Grif spent most of his time biting his lip, worried about bats, however since there never seemed to be any bats before he was beginning to doubt that there would be now. Not that he wasn't going to use that excuse to his advantage to get them to stop working. Or him, at least.

 

            They came to a part of the save where there were four splits. Each one was dark and it was just as likely that Caboose and Donut went into one as opposed to the other, or it was very possible that they each went separate ways. So far there hadn't been a sign of their enemies. This only made the group more paranoid and keep tight enough grips on their weapons.

 

            “I'm going to kill them,” both Sarge and Church said at the same time when they both reached the same conclusion.

 

            “Okay, never, ever, do that again,” Tucker said.

 

            The ground shook under their feet. They all looked at the ground, then up at each other, almost knowing the looks on the faces under the helmets.

 

            “Should we even ask?” Simmons said.

 

            “Probably not,” Grif quipped.

 

            Two voices echoed from one of the cave paths. A moment later, one blue soldier and one pink soldier followed the echoes, both running as fast as their legs could carry them.

 

            “They set a bomb off, run for your lives!” Donut screamed.

 

            “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, running, running, running!” Caboose kept saying over and over again.

 

            They didn't watch the two blurs running past them but rather the dust and debris that was starting to come out of the cave the two had come from.

 

            “Son of a bitch!” Church and Tucker cried.

 

            “Son of a bitch!” Grif and Simmons followed.

 

            “Son of a gun!” Sarge added as he turned with the others to start running.

 

            “Son of a gun, sir?” Simmons asked.

 

            “Shut up and move yer ass!”

 

            Church and Grif were running next to each other, neither one (well, no one really) saw the rocks breaking away from above and neither of them saw the ones that landed in front of them, causing them to trip and fall.

 

            “OW! Get off of me!” Grif exclaimed.

 

            “It's your fault, you freakin' moron!” Church retorted as they tried to untangle themselves.

 

            “My fault?!”

 

            “Yeah! You're lazy and don't look at where you're going!”

 

            “What about you?”

 

            “You tripped me!”

 

            “Oh, sure, right, that's exactly what happened!”

 

            “Later, guys!” Tucker said as he and the others passed them.

 

            Simmons paused to try to help.

 

            “Run now, fight later!” Simmons scolded them, his voice cracking under the pressure.

 

            There was another rumble, Simmons looked up and saw bigger chunks of rock beginning to break away. He glanced down at Grif and Church; they were still bickering and not quite moving, though Church was on his feet and Grif was on his knees but moving too slowly to get to his feet.

 

            “God damn it, Grif, move!” Simmons screamed, his voice cracking again as he bent, nearly picking up Grif but mostly shoving him away just as the rock fell and Simmons glanced up.

 

            “Fuck,” he muttered just before his world went completely black.


	2. ... And Then, Things Went Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world seems to shatter after one thing goes wrong. Very wrong.

            “God damn it, Grif, move!” Simmons screamed, his voice cracking again as he bent, nearly picking up Grif but mostly shoving him away just as the rock fell and Simmons glanced up.

 

            “Fuck,” he muttered just before his world went completely black.

 

            Grif turned, rolling through Simmons' clumsy but surprisingly powerful throw. He watched in horror as the small boulder came down and smashed Simmons between the back of his head and neck and he fell face first into the rocks that tripped Church and Grif. The sound of metal and possibly bone being crushed was the only sound that rang in Grif's ears. Simmons didn't even give so much as a grunt of pain.

 

            “Grif, come on, there's nothing you can do,” Church said.

 

            The words reached Grif, but to him, it sounded as if Church was talking under water.

 

            “Fuck off, Blue,” Grif growled.

 

            He got up and ran to where Simmons lay. In a sudden burst of speed and strength that no one ever thought Grif was capable of, he shoved the rock off of Simmons and pulled the heavy, limp body across his shoulders. Grif then moved to push pass a stunned Church.

 

            “Aren't you even going to follow your own advice?” Grif yelled at him.

 

            The rest of the escape from the caves was like a blur to Grif's mind. He only knew he was outside because he was hit by heat and the scorching sunlight of the desert canyon. Then his legs gave out and tried his best to not completely drop Simmons as he tumbled to the ground.

 

            “Grif! Simmons! You guys okay?” Donut said.

 

            “Simmons, hurt,” Grif forced through his breathing. He rolled over to lie on his back, trying to catch his breath, but it was hard with the feeling of his throat closing up and his chest tightening.

 

            Grif knew that the others were around, he heard them talking but their words made no sense. He turned his head slightly, almost afraid to look at Simmons. Sarge had turned the maroon solider onto his back and apparently was checking him over, Grif didn't know where the Blues and Donut were, but he didn't really care. The front of Simmons' helmet was bent and his visor was cracked. He was lying slightly awkward, Grif could see the back where the boulder crushed more of his armor.

 

            So much for state of the art futuristic protection.

 

            “Grif!” Donut's yell reached his ear. Grif slowly turned his head to the other side as someone shook his shoulders.

 

            Oh, so that's where the others were. Donut was kneeling next to him and apparently he was the one shaking Grif.

 

            “Hey, come on, talk to me!” Donut sounded too worried. “Oh, no, what if he's not breathing? Wait! I know CPR!”

 

            “Oh, God, no, Donut, I can breathe,” Grif said, half-heartedly shoving his effeminate teammate away.

 

            “We gotta get Simmons back to the base, hopefully I can fix him,” Sarge said.

 

            “Do you think you can?” Donut asked.

 

            “Why not? I made him into a robot, didn't I?”

 

            “More like a cyborg, because doesn't he still have some human parts left?” Donut asked.

 

            “Oh, God, you guys are such freaks,” Tucker said.

 

            Grif sat up, glaring at the Blues.

 

            “Oh, come on, coming from the team who is always doing weird stuff when we come to attack or talk to you?” Grif snarled at them.

 

            “Hey, let's back up, guys. What if those psychos come back?” Church asked.

 

            “I don't care,” Grif muttered, moving to get to his feet.

 

            “I don't think they will, the cave went all shaky and went boom,” Caboose said. “I think they're buried under the rock now.”

 

            “I don't know, those guys seem to be able to survive anything,” Tucker said, remembering the group Tex took out when he, Andy, Caboose, and Crunchbite went on the so-called “quest.”

 

            “Fixing Simmons must take priority,” Sarge said.

 

            “But what if-” Tucker started.

 

            “Okay, look, Sarge, you need either Grif or Donut to help you?” Church asked.

 

            “Just Donut, Grif is useless,” Sarge replied.

 

            “Up yours, old man.”

 

            “Okay, Donut, you help Sarge help Simmons, Grif, you come with us, we'll check to see what happened to those idiots in the cave. Deal?” Church suggested.

 

            Sarge grumbled a little as he considered this. He didn't mind losing Grif, but he didn't like being outnumbered by the Blues and already it was bad enough that he didn't have Simmons.

 

            “Fuck you all,” Grif said, struggling to his feet. He wavered a little, but then steadied himself. He was not going to faint in front of them all, he was not. “Donut, since you're best friends with the idiot, and it's your fault that we got into this mess to begin with, you go help the Blues check the caves. I'll help Sarge fix Simmons.”

 

            He moved and reached under Simmons' shoulders and went to lift him. Whatever strength he had during his panicking in the caves was gone.

 

            “A little help, sir?” Grif said, looking pointedly at Sarge,

 

            “Er, right,” Sarge said, thrown off a little by Grif's sudden take charge attitude and willingness to work.

 

            The others watched in silence as both Sarge and Grif lifted Simmons and carried him back to the Warthog (they had brought it to chase the freaks into the caves) and they were still staring as they drove off.

 

            “Is there something that we don't know?” Tucker asked, turning to Donut. “What the hell goes on at your base?”

 

            “What are you asking me for?” Donut asked.

 

            “Look, let's talk about this later, I'm getting a headache and that's a bad enough distraction, let alone if any of those idiots survived the cave collapsing,” Church said, turning away.

 

            “Yeah, good idea, I don't think I want an answer from Donut anyway,” Tucker said as he turned to follow Church.

 

            Donut huffed, almost impatiently. “Well, I wish you guys would make up your minds. If you don't want any answer, then don't go asking me any questions.”

 

            “Don't worry, Private Biscuit, I won't ask any questions what so ever,” Caboose assured him.

 

            Donut sighed a little. “Thanks, Caboose.”


	3. So, After an Evening of Temporary Insanity...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world narrows down to one thing... saving the other.

            Sarge sighed as he looked over his favorite cyborg creation. He knew what to do but he could see that there would be some problems.

 

            "What is it Sarge?" the orange soldier asked, recognizing the annoyed sigh from his superior officer. It was a tone he had heard all too often, and though he never liked hearing it, this had to be the worse time to hear it. "Can you fix him?”

 

            "Yeah, I can fix him, if I had all of the right parts. I used most of what we had to build him the first time and the two robots for the darn Blues," Sarge replied. "Without them, we might just lose Simmons."

 

            Grif felt as if his stomach had been punched. This was all his fault and he knew it. Simmons at least had redeeming value where Grif knew he barely made mediocre. Grif couldn't let Simmons die for one of his own mistakes. Donut, maybe, but not the one man Grif felt deserved to move on past this stupid war.

 

            But what could he do?

 

            Then a thought came to him.

 

            "Hey, Sarge, each team is supposed to be issued the same equipment right?”

 

            "They should be, why?"

 

            "So the Blue team should have been allotted the same equipment and parts and such that we have had at our disposal, right?"

 

            "I guess so. What are you thinking of?

 

            "Simmons has some time right?"

 

            "I guess, yeah, he does. What are you thinking of doing, dirtbag?”

 

            "Prep Simmons for surgery or whatever you have to do. I will be right back."

 

            Grif turned and ran out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.

 

            "Grif! What are you doing? Come back! Grif! I need your body parts!” Sarge yelled after him.

 

            But Grif was already out of earshot. He got just outside the base to find Donut walking back. "Oh, hey Grif! How is Simmons?" Donut asked.

 

            "Where are the Blues?" Grif demanded.

 

            "Oh, uh, yeah, they went back to their own base. We couldn't find any trace of- hey! Where are you going?”

 

            Grif had set off at a run.

 

            "What the-" Donut started, but he was quickly interrupted by Sarge and his booming voice over the radio.

 

            "Grif? Grif! Dag nab it, where did that boy go to? Donut! Where are you?”

 

            "I'm right outside the base, sir. I just saw Grif. I think he is going to the Blue base, sir. What happened? What is going on?”

 

            “I think Grif has finally gone mad. You better follow him, Donut. If he gets caught by the Blues, I want you to shoot him before they have a chance to make him talk. Well, see if they do capture him and after they have tortured him for a while, then shoot him."

 

            "Well, I don't think that will be necessary, Sarge, but I will follow him to make sure that he is okay. Donut out!"

 

            Donut knew full well that being captured by the Blues wasn't as big of a deal as Sarge made it out to be, but he was curious as to what was up with Grif. Donut made a habit of learning about his teammates and picking up on their personalities. It was almost a hobby of his. He had some suspicions about Grif and he didn't want him to get hurt, so he stopped his musings and moved to go check up on his friend.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Grif gave the Blue base a once over. Not much had changed since Simmons had taken temporary control of it and held him prisoner here. The memory made him smile, but it also reminded him why he was out here. He wiped his own smile off of his own face and started to plan his move. Since there didn't seem to be any defenses, Grif walked right in as if it were his own base. He found the Blues standing around and talking.

 

            Is that all these guys ever do? Stand around and talk? Grif asked inside of his own head.

 

            Caboose noticed him first.

 

            "Uh, hey, uh, Church?" Caboose said hesitantly.

 

            "What?" Church replied

 

            He turned around to find himself staring down the barrel of Grif's favorite gun.

 

            "What the hell, Red? How did you get in here?”

 

            "You have supplies that I need, now," Grif said in a demanding tone.

 

            "Oh, yeah? Well, what do we get in return?" Tucker asked.

 

            Grif cocked his gun. "This is not a bargain. I am not here to ask or to negotiate. I am here to get what I need and I have no problem shooting all three of you to get what I want."

 

            The Blues stared at him.

 

            "I do not think he is bluffing," Caboose said in a loud whisper.

 

            "Yeah, he seems pretty serious, Church. I think we should just give him what he wants," Tucker said, his voice tinged with worry.

 

            Church also agreed with his team and nodded slowly to Grif.

 

            "Nice to see that you guys aren't total idiots all the time," Grif said.

 

            “Hey, fuck you, man, we are giving you what you want, there's no need to insult us on top of it," Church snarled at him.

 

            Grif made his stay brief. He didn't really know how much time Simmons had and he refused to let him die. The Blues peeked around the corner of their supply room, watching as Grif rummaged through, taking various bits and pieces.

 

            “What in the world has gotten into him?” Tucker asked.

 

            “I have no idea,” Church murmured. “But I think it's actually starting to scare me a little.”

 

            Grif finished gathering what he needed quickly and left the base at a run, and not just a jogging run, an actual, full out run.

 

            “Isn't Grif the lazy one?” Tucker asked.

 

            “Yeah, he is definitely starting to scare me,” Church said.

 

            “I think Grif is in love with Simmons,” Caboose said.

 

            “What?!” both Tucker and Church turned on the third.

 

            “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” Tucker asked.

 

            “Well, Tucker, you told me yourself, that love makes people do crazy things,” Caboose said, as if he had told them all of this before. “And if Grif is doing things he normally does not do, like run and be responsible and all scary like, then that must mean he must be crazy. He started being crazy when Simmons got hit by the rock, and since it would just be silly for Grif to be in love with a rock, it must be because he is in love with Simmons.”

 

            Tucker and Church both stared at Caboose, then looked at each other.

 

            “You know what scares me even more than the possibly insane Red?” Tucker said.

 

            “I'm a little afraid to ask,” Church said.

 

            “That sort of made sense.”

 

            “I guess so.”

 

            “But, it was from Caboose.”

 

            “I know.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            “Grif!”

 

            The orange soldier didn't slow down at the voice. He had heard Sarge over the radio, he just decided to ignore him, so he knew that Donut was there around the Blue base as well.

 

            “There's no time, Donut, Simmons is going to die!” Grif called back.

 

            “Well, at least wait up!”

 

            Grif could hear Donut's footsteps behind him. He knew very well that Donut was a much more capable runner than he was any day and made no motion to slow up. As he figured, Donut caught up to him with little problem.

 

            “What in the world was that about?” Donut asked him.

 

            “Ask me later,” Grif said. He knew he had to conserve the little bit of energy he had left. Already his legs burned from running, his arms were feeling numb from clinging to all of the parts plus his gun, and his lungs (well, oddly enough they were Simmons' lungs) felt like they were going to burst.

 

            He ran straight into the base and dumped his armload on the empty table.

 

            “This should be all you need, right?” Grif said.

 

            Sarge stared between the parts on the table and the soldier he always had to fight to get him to do a simple thing like shower.

 

            “Right?” Grif repeated, sounding impatient.

 

            “Uhm, yeah, yeah, this should be fine, I'll get started, then,” Sarge said slowly.

 

            Grif leaned against a wall, his body starting to rebel against his wishes. Donut saw this and quickly moved to his side.

 

            “Hey, Grif, let me help Sarge, why don't you go sit down for a few minutes?” Donut suggested. Grif shot him a look, but Donut held up his hand. ”If you help Sarge while you're all tired out like this, it could hurt Simmons worse. I know that's not what you want to do.”

 

            Grif opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it and just sighed. He turned and walked out of the room, his head hanging a little. Donut removed his helmet and put it aside with a slight smile before he turned to Sarge and their race to save Simmons began.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Grif went to the room he and Simmons shared. He took off his helmet and though all he wanted to do was to collapse on his messy bed, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. The days events ran through his mind as he ran his fingers through his own hair. He caught himself in the mirror and he moved to stare himself in his own eyes. They were bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days. His face held a few scars from the accident, a patch of skin above his left eyes was slightly paler; a skin donation from Simmons, among other parts. Grif sometimes still couldn't believe that Sarge actually saved his life, and though the procedure was probably ethically wrong on so many levels, he couldn't help being a little grateful to the overbearing commander. Just a little, though, he couldn't bring himself to feel indebted in any way towards the man who seemed to try his hardest to make his life miserable.

 

            Grif's actions seemed to finally catch up to him, almost as if he watched them all replay in the windows that were his eyes. Everything from the cave, tripping, fighting with Church, being thrown aside by Simmons, carrying him out, then raiding the Blue Base...

 

            “Oh, God, what did I do?” Grif murmured to himself.

 

            But he knew exactly what he did and exactly how it happened and why he came to the conclusion he was drawing to; Grif came to the frightening realization today that his closest companion could die. His best friend, the only person in this stupid canyon that seemed to understand or at the very least tolerate him could cease to exist, never to order him around again, or bicker about their duties, or bitch about the Blues with, all of it would cease to exist.

 

            Of course Grif knew that there was more. He and Simmons shared more than a friendship. It was a secret they had decided to keep and the bond between them went unsaid, sometimes even when they were in private. They understood the one's feelings for the other, they had even consummated those feelings on more occasions than just those cold and lonely desert nights.

 

            However, neither one of them ever said it out loud, as if it would break what was there.

 

            Grif couldn't take it anymore; he backed away from the mirror until the back of his knees hit the edge of his bed and he had no choice but to collapse on the uneven blanket that hung halfway off the side and his head missing the pillow that had gotten shoved between the mattress and the wall. Grif didn't even have the energy or will to pull his legs up fully onto the bed. Whether he has fainted or simply let exhaustion take over, he didn't know and he really didn't care, but he did know that it was dark and the world as he knew it simply melted away.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            Hands ghosted over his chest. A cool breeze played across his skin which was in sharp contrast to the heated skin of the palms that moved to his sides and rested on his waist.

 

            “Whu- where am I?” Grif murmured.

 

            “Shh, it's okay.”

 

            “Simmons?”

 

            “Yeah?”

 

            Grif opened his eyes. Around him it was dark as night, the only thing he could see was Simmons. They were both naked, and though there was no source of light, he had no problem seeing his best friend and lover.

 

            “Oh, God, Simmons, I'm sorry, I- why can't I move?” Grif asked, a sudden panic taking over. He had tried to sit up to embrace Simmons, but his body simply wouldn't move. “What happened to me?”

 

            “Shh,” Simmons whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. “Just listen for once, okay, Dexter?”

 

            Grif nodded the little bit that he could, shuddering inside at the sound of his own first name. The only person who ever called him by his first name was Simmons, and even then, only in private, and only sometimes.

 

            “I don't think I have to say what we both already know. You need only to have faith in that, trust it, stick to it, and everything will be fine,” Simmons said.

 

            “Uhm, okay,” Grif said slowly, understanding what was being said to a point, but not really understanding why Simmons was telling him this. “Look, please just tell me, are you going to be okay?”

 

            “Like I said, have faith and trust.”

 

            “Okay,” Grif glanced down at his body and then looked at Simmons, who was kneeling next to him now. “Hey, why are we naked?”

 

            “It's your dream, dumb ass,” Simmons said, no heat in his voice as he leaned over to run his fingers through Grif's hair.

 

            “Yeah, but, this is kind of, well, gay, don't you think?”

 

            Simmons blinked at him. “Man, how many times have we slept together?”

 

            Grif grinned. “What can I say? My mind's a fucked up place.”

 

            Simmons chuckled. “You can say that again.”

 

            Grif's grin widened as an evil gleam glinted in one eye. “What can I sa-”

 

            He was cut off by Simmons, who shook his head once as he smiled one of his rare smiles and then leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his mouth.

 

            “You talk too much, Dexter,” Simmons murmured as he pulled away.

 

            “And you're a cock tease,” Grif scowled. “Seriously, dude, why can't I move?”

 

            Simmons shifted so he sat next to Grif's shoulder, his legs stretching in front of him so his toes were about even with Grif's fingers. He glanced down his lovers body curiously.

 

            “Hm, I have no idea,” Simmons concluded. “I'm not complaining about the view, though, mind you.”

 

            “You better not, I work hard to keep my lovely figure just for you.”

 

            The two shared a smile for a moment, Simmons' was the first to fade.

 

            “I think it's your own insecurity, your fear,” Simmons said, his voice turning serious now. “You're going to have to do something about this Grif, otherwise, you're going to hurt yourself.”

 

            “We're in a war and you're worried about my mental well being and it hurting me? There's a group of guys on the other side of the canyon who normally wouldn't want to do anything other than blow our heads off, and you worry about me hurting myself?”

 

            “If you keep sleeping like that, you're going to hurt yourself.”

 

            “Huh?”

 

            Simmons' voice had changed, it sounded higher pitched, almost like...

 

            Suddenly Simmons collapsed, his eyes closed. Grif couldn't move and watched in helpless horror as Simmons' body began to disappear.


	4. Waking Up is Hard to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world crashes back to reality

            “Dick, no!” Grif cried out, waking up, his arms flailing.

 

            Donut nearly screeched as he backed up.

 

            “Grif, calm down, it's me!” the pink soldier said. “I was just trying to make you more comfortable, if you kept sleeping with your legs hanging off of the edge of the bed like that, you were going to hurt yourself.”

 

            “That was you?” Grif said, catching his breath. “Oh, God, how long was I out?”

 

            “For a good while, about seven hours, I think,” Donut said, watching Grif carefully. “Are you okay?”

 

            Grif took another deep breath before nodding slowly. “Yeah, yeah I think I am. What the hell are you doing in my room, anyway?”

 

            “I came in just to check on you, I was really worried about you, Grif.”

 

            Grif gave him a whithering look. “Gee, thanks. How is Simmons?”

 

            “We're done. He's still unconscious, but Sarge seems pretty confident that he'll be okay.”

 

            Grif only nodded and tried to hide his sigh of relief in stretching his arms. He sat up straighter, sitting on the edge of his bed. Donut hesitated a moment, but then sat down next to Grif.

 

            “Uhm, what are you doing?” Grif asked. “Don't you remember that talk we had about personal space?”

 

            Donut didn't meet his eyes, ignoring his words, and instead, he rested his elbows on his knees, the tips of his fingers touching to the tips of the fingers on his other hand. Grif bent down slightly to try to see the look on his face. From what he could tell, it was contemplative.

 

            “Grif, if I ask you a question, can you give me a straight, solid, honest answer?” Donut asked.

 

            “No, I don't think putting lace curtains in the bathroom is a good idea.”

 

            “Hey, I'm being serious right now, I really wish that you would do the same, just for a few minutes.”

 

            The tone was unmistakable; Donut really did mean business. It made Grif uneasy.

 

            “Maybe, why?”

 

            “After all of the weird shit you pulled today, it's the least you could do.”

 

            Grif raised an eyebrow. Donut never used “bad” words, at least not in front of them, not often enough to be memorable at any rate.

 

            “Okay, but just this once,” Grif agreed somewhat reluctantly.

 

            “You're in love with Simmons, aren't you?”

 

            Grif frowned. How the fuck did he figure that out?

 

            “You promised me a straight, honest answer,” Donut reminded him when he didn't say anything.

 

            “Yeah, I know,” Grif snapped. He sat up even straighter took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out in a huff out of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, I'm in love with Simmons. You say anything about it and I'll fucking snap your neck.”

 

            “Psh, yeah, right, you say that when I steal one of your snack cakes,” Donut said, sitting up and turning so he could look Grif in the eye. “It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's just today it was pretty blatantly obvious.”

 

            “Sarge will probably kill us if he finds out,” Grif muttered, burying his hands in his hair.

 

            Donut shrugged. “He lets me live, if he kills both of you, we'll be outnumbered and you know he hates that even more.”

 

            “I guess that's true. Wait, you really gay? Like, out of the closet about it now and everything?”

 

            “This is about you and Simmons, not me.”

 

            “How the hell did you come to that conclusion, anyway?”

 

            “Oh, come on, you know that Sarge will choose his hate of the Blues over anything, any day.”

 

            “No, I mean, how did you figure out that I'm in love with Simmons?”

 

            “Oh, well, today was the first time I've seen you run, take the initiative, and do actual work and the only thing that's different is that Simmons' life was in danger. So either it's love or something else is going on that you don't want to talk about.”

 

            Grif gave Donut a once over and shook his head. “You know, I never figured you to be the overly observant type.”

 

            Donut shrugged again and smiled. “Have you ever told him?”

 

            “Hey, you said you wanted a straight, honest answer to a question, not many questions.”

 

            “Right. So, when is the wedding? I can bake the cake!”

 

            “Fuck you, Donut. Man, I am so sorry I even said anything.”

 

            “I'm joking, I'm joking.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

            The surgery was done and there was nothing else he could do, so Sarge had decided to call it a night and went off to his own room to go to bed. Donut had, too, which left a restless and sleepless Grif to his own devices.

 

            Grif had taken off his armor; although he was used to it, that didn't keep it from being uncomfortable. He kept the black bodysuit on for warmth and pulled on a pair of dark orange sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Once he was sure that both Sarge and Donut had fallen asleep, he left his room as quietly as he could and made his way to what passed as the medical bay in what was their actually relatively small base. He peeked in and saw Simmons, his still body lying on the operating table. Simmons was still unconscious and a thin blanket was pulled over him.

 

            Grif walked in slowly and glanced over to where Simmons' armor was laid. He walked over to it and inspected the helmet. It was all but destroyed, really, though Grif guessed that it could be hammered back into shape. The visor could also be replaced. He then picked up the back plate to study. His fingers traced over the bent metal, the back plate was going to be much easier to fix than the helmet.

 

            A wave of sickness passed over Grif as the memories from the day started creeping back in his mind. He turned to Simmons lying completely still, his already pale skin took on a tone that made Grif's own skin crawl. He saw the blanket, and then a thought occurred to him.

 

            Grif took a moment to go back to his room and he pulled the blanket off of his own bed and went as quickly and quietly as he could back to Simmons. He carefully put the blanket over the prone soldier, taking care to tuck the edges in. The night was a bit warmer than usual, but not by enough that the one thin blanket was going to be enough to keep him warm. Grif considered climbing into the makeshift bed, but he was too scared that it might cause worse problems than just the cold.

 

            Grif frowned at his own emotion as he pulled a chair up to the side of the table and leaned his elbows on the edge so he could put his head down.

 

            “I'm scared, worried, and now I'm babysitting, and it's all because of you, Simmons,” Grif murmured to the still body. “I swear, only you could turn me into such a freakin' girl. Hell, at this point, I might even be able to give Donut a run for his money.”

 

            Simmons didn't answer except for slow, almost shallow, quiet breathing. Grif wrinkled his nose, almost annoyed that Simmons was unconscious and missing the likely “jackass” that would have followed Grif's musings.

 

            “Why you?” Grif mused again after the few moments of silence. “Out of the people in this canyon and everyone I've ever known, why the hell did it have to be you?”

 

            There was still no answer and it was moments like now that Grif remembered that he generally hated silence. He didn't mind it so much if people were awake, but in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep (or rather, unconscious, in Simmons' case), silence was different. It was almost too quiet and it had the tendency to press in on everything around it like an invisible bubble filling the room and smothering anyone in it.

 

            Grif sighed again and closed his eyes.

 

            “You better wake up soon, Simmons, because there's something I gotta tell you,” Grif said as he suppressed a yawn, sleepiness finally catching up to him. “Dick, I love you.”

 

            With those last whispered words, Grif let himself fall asleep, and the Red base fell still and completely silent for the rest of the night.


	5. Let the Chips Fall Where they May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world is briefly put back together.

            Sarge was awake first. He always woke up early, did some of his own exercises, wiped a rag over his armor (which was always polished and cleaned the night before), put it on, checked his favorite shotgun, and went off to wake the others.

 

            He went in the room that held his two extremes; his favorite private and his least favorite private. Sarge was a little shocked to find that the room was empty, both beds inside were mussed up, and Sarge wasn't happy to see Grif's armor laying in a heap in a corner. Just how many times has he told that boy to take care of his equipment? It was enough to drive a man mad!

 

            “What in tarnation,” Sarge grumbled. He knew that Simmons would be missing, but he expected to see Grif asleep in his bed. The orange private would sleep until well past lunch time if it weren't for Sarge's wake up calls and Simmons' constant prodding.

 

            Sarge moved on to Donut's room and was glad that at least one thing in the base could still be counted on.

 

            “Rise and shine, pretty in pink,” Sarge said as he pounded on the open door.

 

            “Can do, Sarge,” Donut replied with a yawn as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

 

            “Hurry up, I need you to find Grif.”

 

            Donut had an idea where Grif was, if he wasn't in his room. He smiled at the thought as he put on his armor, tucked his helmet under one arm, and headed straight to the medical bay.

 

            Sure enough as Donut figured, he found Grif sleeping with his head on the edge of the table, one of his arms extended slightly, as if he were trying to touch Simmons' hand that last just past his fingertips.

 

            “Aw, that's so cute,” Donut mused. He couldn't help it, he had to take the opportunity that was presented to him. He ran quickly back to his room to grab his digital camera and then he headed quickly back to snap a photo of the two before they moved or woke up.

 

            “Ah, there he is.”

 

            Sarge's gruff voice made Donut jump and he hid the camera quickly behind his back.

 

            “Uh, yeah, I, uh, I was just going to radio you,” Donut said. “Sarge? Can't we just leave him be? Grif had a rough day, too, and all-”

 

            “Negative, meat sack,” Sarge said. “No excuses. I'm sure the Blues are planning an attack as we speak, and it's bad enough that we've got one man down.”

 

            Donut nearly rolled his eyes. Just how many times had the Blues come to attack them? Maybe twice in the whole time that Donut had been there? Not only that, but he heard some stories from Grif and Simmons and according to them (granted, if they could be trusted, after all they were the ones who sent him after something stupid like elbow grease), the Blues didn't ever attack them before his arrival either.

 

            Grif groaned as he started to wake up. “Morning already?”

 

            “Rise and shine, Nancy. What are you doin' down here?” Sarge asked.

 

            “Well, I was sleeping.”

 

            “Knock it off, numb nuts, get in your armor and get your ass outside in five minutes. That goes double for you, Donut.”

 

            “Yes, sir,” Donut replied.

 

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Grif said as he stood, stretching more.

 

            With that, Sarge turned and went up the ramp to the top of the base. Grif looked at Donut, who simply beamed at him.

 

            “What are you looking so happy about?” Grif asked.

 

            Donut clutched the camera tighter behind his back. “Oh, nothing, why don't you go grab your armor and I'll meet you outside.”

 

            Grif eyed him with a slight hint of distrust, he could almost smell that Donut was hiding something, but then he turned slowly to go back to his room to get his armor. Once Grif was gone, Donut let go a sigh of relied. He took a look at his camera, bringing up the picture he took and smiled. He would share the picture when the time was right.

 

 

            The day dragged on. Sarge barked orders, Grif did his best to ignore them, and Donut found himself pretty much in the same position as when Simmons left and he was “promoted.” Grif kept sneaking back inside the base to check in on Simmons, being sure that no one was watching him do it. Thus, this was how the day passed.

 

            Sarge finally allowed Donut and Grif to be relieved of their duties; he guessed the Blues just didn't have it in them to launch an attack that day.

 

            Grif made a beeline for Simmons, Donut followed, and it just so happened that Sarge wanted to check up on Simmons as well.

 

            Mostly the three just stood around the bed, watching the unconscious soldier, hoping he would move.

 

            “How much longer do you suppose he'll be out, Sarge?” Donut asked quietly.

 

            “I dunno,” Sarge murmured. He would never admit it out loud, but he was also starting to get worried. He was sure he and Donut did everything right, but there was always that margin for error.

           

           Grif was never more glad that his helmet was still on, he would never want anyone to see the look on his face, especially if it mirrored how he felt, even in the slightest.

 

            ' _Come on, Simmons, wake up, please,_ ' he thought to himself.

 

            As if he could hear Grif's wish, Simmons suddenly took a deep breath and moved slightly as he started to wake up.

 

            “Ow, the back of my head,” he murmured.

 

            The three Reds shared glances before they quickly gathered around the table.

 

            “Well, well, well, look who's awake,” Donut said, his voice portrayed the big smile he was wearing.

 

            “How are you feeling, Simmons?” Sarge asked.

 

            “Huh? Are you talking to me?” Simmons asked, slowly trying to sit up.

 

            “No, Sarge means the other maroon idiot who got knocked out by a rock,” Grif said, his voice strained from him trying to not laugh out loud with relief.

 

            “Hey, you should take it easy, you know,” Donut said.

 

            Simmons ignored him and finally got himself propped up on his elbows. He looked up at the three surrounding him, but something was a little wrong with the look he was giving them.

 

            “Who are you? Where am I?” he asked.

 

            The relieved laugh in Grif's throat died.


	6. Clever Title Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world is in pieces, the other one doesn't know what to do to fix it.

            The three Reds stared at the fourth, lost for words and unsure who should speak first.

             "Well?" Simmons said, looking at the three expectantly. "Can you at least tell me who I am?"

             "I guess he must have amnesia," Donut said.

             "Thanks for stating the obvious, cupcake," Sarge grumbled.

             "Okay, someone has some explaining to do and for once, it's not me," Grif said, glaring at Sarge and Donut. "What did you two do to him?"

             "Who did what to who? I am so confused, and my head hurts," Simmons complained.

             "I just fixed him, maybe I crossed a wire or two," Sarge said.

             "You crossed a few wires and destroyed his memory? What is wrong with you?" Grif said, on the verge of yelling.

             “Whoa, whoa, just take it easy," Donut said. “Simmons still has his own brain, his memory loss must be due to the head trauma he suffered from that rock falling on him."

             "Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?" Simmons said in a raised voice, starting to sound annoyed.

             Grif looked back at Simmons and felt completely blank. His stomach didn't turn, his knees didn't weaken, he didn't even feel dizzy, there was simply nothing, and he knew he didn't like it.

             "I can explain all you need to know in song!" Donut said.

             Simmons sighed and lay back down with a sigh.

             "Great, I am totally surrounded by idiots," he murmured too low for any of them to really hear him. He cleared his throat and spoke again, this time clearer as well as louder. "Why don't we do this one thing at a time. What is my name?"

             "We call you Simmons," Sarge said. "Private First Class Dick Simmons of the glorious Red Army."

             Simmons opened an eye. "Uh, huh, and you are?"

             "That's Sarge, over there is Grif, and I'm Donut," he pointed to each of them as they were introduced.

             “Donut? Seriously?”

             Simmons opened both eyes and sat up again. This time, it seemed easier for him. He also pulled the blanket up over his bare chest, feeling way too exposed for his comfort. He then looked at each of of them carefully, trying to pull their images from deep inside his mind. It only hurt his head.

             "What happened to me?" was the only other question he could pull out of his mind.

             "You got knocked on the noggin by a big rock, but don't worry, you should be just fine," Sarge said.

             Almost automatically, Donut looked over at Grif, awaiting a quick-witted reply, and he noticed that Simmons had also glanced over to Grif at the same time. But Grif said nothing. Simmons glanced back to Donut and then at Sarge.

             "What do you guys look like, anyway?" Simmons asked slowly, at the same time, he was beginning to wonder about himself.

             "Oh, right, we just finished our patrol for the day, so we still have all of our armor on," Donut said. He reached up to unsnap the fasteners on his helmet. He pulled his helmet off and brushed back a few strands of bright blond hair that escaped the short ponytail and flashed a bright grin at Simmons.

             Simmons didn't know why, exactly, but he decided that this guy, Donut, made him a little uneasy. He looked over at the one they called Sarge, clad in red armor.

             Sarge's helmet came off to reveal a close cropped regulation marine hair cut that was mainly dark brown but gray hairs started cropping up along the sides and sprinkled the top. He had hard, gray eyes, a few scars here and there, and a tattoo could just barely be seen on the side of his neck, but it was mostly covered by the high neck of his black bodysuit.

             "Grif!" Donut whispered, pointing to his own head.

             Simmons immediately glanced over at the one wearing the orange armor. He had not said much since Simmons first woke up and now he only seemed to stare into space, but it was hard to tell.

             "Huh? Oh, yeah, the armor," he mumbled, sounding very distracted.

             Grif slowly reached up to undo his own helmet while Simmons watched him almost curiously.

             The helmet came off to reveal shaggy, dark brown hair, lightly tanned skin with a pale patch of skin along the left side of his forehead, just above his eye. Grif had golden brown eyes that looked straight at the other soldier for a moment, then he looked away, a hand rubbed the back of his head.

             "How are you feeling, Simmons?" Sarge asked, even he was becoming uncomfortable with the silence that filled the room.

             Simmons sighed. “My head hurts.”

             "Well that's not too surprising," Sarge said. "Get some rest, son, tomorrow we will start jogging your memory."

             "Okay."

             “If you need anything, just call me,” Donut said, flashing Simmons another grin.

             Simmons frowned slightly. “Uhm, yeah, sure.”

             Sarge gave him a nod and turned to leave. Donut gave him a small wave and followed Sarge. Simmons looked over at Grif, who was slower and more hesitant, for some reason.

            “Uhm, can, uh, the orange one, Grif, right? Can Grif stay with me for a little bit?” Simmons asked hesitantly.

            Sarge and Donut both stared at him. Grif gave them a lost glance, then turned away from them.

            “I guess, if he wants to,” Sarge said. “Hm, I just need to talk to him for a moment, Simmons.”

           Simmons nodded, Grif moved quickly to leave the room, nearly pushing Donut aside as he went out the door.

            "Grif,” Sarge said when the three of them were outside. “Since Simmons is your roommate, I am appointing you as Simmons' official nurse maid. Now don't screw it up."

            "Yes, sir," was the murmured reply. Grif was still not meeting either of their eyes.

            Sarge frowned at the answer. "What did you say, dirt bag?"

            Grif suddenly straightened, cleared his throat, and looked Sarge straight in the eye. "I said, yes sir."

            Sarge's eyes narrowed. He handed his helmet to Donut, cocked his shot gun and put it up to Grif's face. Grif didn't so much as twitch, it wasn't like it was something new.

            “What the hell had gotten into you, Grif?” Sarge asked.

             “Sarge, can you just chalk it up to “insanitosis” or something without actually asking me what's wrong?” Grif said with a sigh and giving the older solider a withering look. “You don't seem to have a problem doing that at any other time, why start now?”

             Sarge's glare grew even harder. “So you willingly admit that you are insane?”

             “No more than anyone else, plus I think anyone who actually admits that they are insane is not really truly insane. Declaring your own insanity is the exact opposite of being insane.”

             Sarge blinked. “Uhm, I think you lost me there.”

             Grif sighed, partly relieved because Sarge did finally lower the gun and didn't discharge it. As a matter of fact, it looked as if he was putting the safety back on.

             “Let me go see what is wrong with Simmons' memory and I'll make a full report in the morning. Sound like a deal, Sarge?”

             “Uhm yeah, I guess so,” Sarge said. “Get some rest, boys, and I'll see you in the morning.”

             Donut nodded and handed Sarge's helmet back to him, and he and Grif watched as he marched down the hall.

             “What now?” Donut asked.

             “I guess I'll go see what Simmons wants,” Grif said.

             Donut tilted his head curiously at Grif for a moment.

             “You know, Grif, it's not healthy to keep things bottled up inside yourself,” Donut moved closer to put a hand on Grif's shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I'm here for you, old buddy.”

             Grif knocked Donut's hand off. “Oh, fuck off and go to bed, rookie.”

             Donut still gave him a knowing smile before he sauntered off down the hall to his own room. Grif couldn't help but sigh and roll his eyes before he turned back and walked back to Simmons.

             He came in and found Simmons was still sitting up, but he seemed to make himself more comfortable, propping the pillow up against the wall, he had taken one blanket to wrap around his shoulders and kept the other blanket covering his legs.

             Well, Simmons did say he was always shy, but it still made Grif want to shake his head.

             “This is so stupid,” he muttered, taking care to not let Simmons hear him.

             The chair that he used last night was still in the room and Grif pulled it up beside the bed. He rubbed his eyes hard before looking at Simmons. Simmons stared back at him with his blue-green eyes, wide and curious.

             “So, you're name is Grif?” he asked.

             “Yeah, that's me,” Grif replied.

             “Well, what's you're first name?”

             “Dexter.”

             “Oh,” Simmons was quiet for a moment. “Why does everyone call you Grif?”

             “For the same reason everyone calls you Simmons, I guess. It's just the way we do things around here.”

             “Oh.”

             They were quiet again, Simmons stared down into his own lap and Grif stared somewhere between the wall and the floor.

             Simmons didn't know why he asked this Grif guy to stay. Off hand, he didn't seem to be the kind of person he would be connected to in any way, shape, or form. Well, the same thing went to the others, as well. Sarge reminded him too much of a father figure, and Donut just creeped him out. What was he doing here, anyway? Apparently he was part of the Red Army, but what did that mean?

             Simmons head really, really hurt, so he laid back down again.

             Grif was lost in his own thought as well. He knew he couldn't be mad at Simmons for forgetting him, it seemed Simmons forgot mostly everything. First the guy got knocked in the back of the head with one rock and the front of his head met another, so maybe Donut was right and his brain just got so jarred that it affected his memory. He just wish he knew why it hurt so much. He glanced over to see that Simmons was lying back down.

             “Hey, man, you okay?” Grif asked.

             “My head hurts,” Simmons said. “I keep saying that, isn't there something I can take for this?”

             “I don't think so, we never had much in medical supplies to begin with,” Grif said.

             Simmons groaned and closed his eyes and turned over onto his stomach, hoping that it would help.

             Grif's fingers twitched and he wasn't sure if it was such a good idea, but he pulled the armored glove off and scooted his chair around and closer to the bed so he could run his fingers through Simmons' reddish brown hair.

            At first, he felt the other man twitch under the touch, he opened his eyes and stared at him.

            “What are you doing?” Simmons asked.

             “Trying to make your headache go away,” Grif explained. “If it really bothers you, I'll stop, just, I dunno, just trying to help.”

            Simmons blinked and relaxed again. Something about rubbing one's neck with aloe vera popped into his head, but he had no idea why and he was pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with headaches.

             “No, well, it's just weird, I don't remember anyone ever, like, touching me before.”

             “Man, you don't even remember your own name. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

             Simmons nodded slightly, letting his eyes close and concentrating on the feel of fingertips running over his scalp. Grif smirked slightly as he made himself comfortable, content in touching his hair once again, being careful not to go near the back of his head where Simmons had been hit.

             The touch was definitely soothing, long lines glided and massaging circles on his scalp did help Simmons feel more relaxed. The headache was still present mostly, but it didn't feel as sharp, and with Grif there, he didn't feel that stab of loneliness and isolation his memory loss brought.

             Simmons drifted off to sleep rather quickly and soon Grif found himself yawning. He decided it would be a bad idea to sleep here for two nights in a row, so he made sure that Simmons was covered and would stay warm during the night before he picked up his glove and his helmet and went back to his own room.


	7. This Wasn't the "Morning After" I was Thinking Of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world is in limbo.

            Grif slept a little easier, but there were no dreams that he could remember. One moment he was taking off his armor and rearranging his bed, the next he was waking up.

             He looked over to check the clock, it was at least forty five minutes until Sarge woke up. Grif couldn't sleep anymore and it was almost disturbing to look over at the other bed to not see Simmons there. He sighed and decided to pull on his armor so he could go and check on the memory-impaired soldier.

             He wasn't too surprised to see Simmons awake. He was still sitting in his bed, though, the blanket pulled tightly around him, and looking lost.

             “Hey, how you feeling?” Grif asked.

             Simmons' head snapped up. “Oh, okay, I guess.”

             A blush was starting to stain the cheeks that were lightly speckled with freckles. Grif tilted his head, he always found that to be sort of cute on Simmons, but it made no sense why he was blushing now.

             Oh, wait, Simmons was the shy one. Even after the two of them spent so many nights together, Simmons couldn't seem to get over the way his body flushed when he was embarrassed. Grif shook his head, thinking about a naked and blushing Simmons was not going to be very productive at that moment.

             “So, do you think you're able to get out of bed?” Grif asked.

             “No,” Simmons answered almost too quickly.

             “Why not? Still not feeling well?”

             “I, uhm, I don't have any clothes on,” Simmons whispered.

             Grif smirked slightly. He couldn't help teasing. “So? We're all guys here.”

             “I think I'm a little shy,” Simmons said, tossing a glare Grif's way.

             “You have two blankets, wrap them around you and I'll show you where you keep your stuff.”

             The blush grew more prominent. “Would you mind just bringing my clothes to me so I can get dressed like a regular person?”

             Grif decided that was enough teasing for now. “Okay, okay, I'll be right back.”

             Simmons sighed in relief. “Hey, uhm, uh...”

             Grif stopped in his tracks but didn't turn to look at Simmons. “Grif.”

             “Sorry. Grif, thanks.”

             “Whatever.”

             Grif left and made his way to their bedroom to get another black body suit, Simmons' armor was still in the room, but the back plate and helmet needed to be fixed anyway. After rummaging around Simmons' drawers for a bit, Grif decided regular clothes would have to do until the armor was fixed anyhow and Simmons would definitely not walk all around the base in just the body suit.

             Unless Grif could convince him that there were no other clothes for him.

             “Nah, I'll be mean to him later,” Grif decided out loud.

             He pulled out a pair of maroon boxer briefs, a matching pair of pajama pants and a black t-shirt. The clothes would be light enough for the normal day's heat and they would cover him to the point where he would be comfortable. He hurried back to the room and dumped the clothing on Simmons' lap.

             “There you go,” he said.

             “Thanks,” Simmons moved to take the clothes, but then looked pointedly at Grif, who was watching him. “Uhm do you mind?”

             “Mind what?”

             “Could you leave the room?”

             Grif grinned. “Do you remember how to get dressed by yourself?”

             “Don't be an asshole, Grif.”

             “Ah, there's the Simmons I know. I'll go stand in the doorway, yes, with my back turned and I promise not to peek. Big baby.”

             Simmons scowled at him but Grif only smirked as he turned away to do what he said he would.

             He swear it took less than forty five seconds before a hand touched him tentatively on the shoulder.

             “I'm dressed.”

             Grif turned around. “Okay.”

             Simmons rubbed his arm and looked at the floor. “What do we do now?”

             Grif scratched the back of his head. “Well, let's get you out of here for some fresh air. Sarge has pretty much put me in charge of you, so, yeah.”

             Simmons nodded slightly and followed Grif out of the base.

             It was a bright, sunny, and hot day. Not much had changed in the canyon for the past few years, weather wise, and Grif figured that everyone stationed there would have a heart attack if there was any change. Grif led Simmons up on top of the base, found a shady spot and sat down on the edge and indicated Simmons to join him.

             “So, I guess where do we start?” Grif asked. “You probably have a ton of questions.”

             “Yeah,” Simmons fiddled a little with his pajama pants. They felt a little too thin, leaving him feeling a little exposed. “I guess I should ask what happened to me?”

             “You want the long version or the short?”

             “Might as well tell me the long version.”

             “It's probably going to lead to more questions, really.”

             “Okay, the short version then.”

             “Hm, I dunno if that'll explain it all.”

             “Is there a middle version?”

             “Yeah, let's go with that,” Grif took in a deep breath. “We had to fight off this insane army of freaks who wanted our flag, so we teamed up with the Blues to fight them.”

             “Who are the Blues?”

             “Our enemies.”

             “If they are our enemies, why did we team up with them?”

             “It happens now and then.”

             “What's so important about the flag?”

             “I don't fucking know, do you want the story or not?”

             “Sorry.”

             “Well, we chased the freaks into these caves, Donut got all excited and ran after them and one of the Blues, this guy named Caboose, ran in after him, too.”

             “Caboose?” Simmons' face scrunched, trying to pull the image of the person up to match the name.

             “Yeah, he's the stupid stupid one,” Grif said. “Anyway, the freaks set off some sort of explosion and the caves started to collapse.”

             Grif's throat tightened. He didn't like reliving the accident in his own mind, how was he going to explain what happened to Simmons?

             “So, then what? Was I the only one hurt?”

             Grif nodded slowly.

             “I guess I don't move very fast, then.”

             “No! I mean, uh, well, no, you are a fast mover, faster than me, that's for sure,” Grif's fingers flexed nervously on his thighs. “I guess I better tell you before you hear a really fucked up version of this from one of the others.”

             Simmons scooted a little closer to Grif, leaning in, his ears more open and alert than before.

             “It was my fault,” Grif muttered quickly.

             “What was that?”

             “I was my fault. I tripped, you pushed me out of the way of a bunch of falling rocks.”

             Saying it out loud hurt, but also it felt a little better. Maybe now Simmons would smack him, yell at him, maybe shove him off of the edge of the base, it was the least he felt he deserved.

             Simmons blinked, taking this information in. He sat up straight again, looking across the canyon.

             “I didn't ask you to, you know,” Grif continued, almost angrily. “You could have just kept going and I could have been fine.”

             Simmons gave Grif a look. “I'm not angry about it, and maybe I should be, so why are you?”

             Grif's brain skidded to a halt. “What, wait, you're not mad at me?”

             “No,” Simmons eyes widened with realization. “Wow, you really feel guilty about all of this.”

             Grif felt his face heat up, so he looked away.

             “Hey, look, for whatever it's worth, it's okay. There's nothing we can do about the past, what's happened has happened, I just want things to get back to normal.”

             Grif sighed. “Yeah.”

             Simmons' statement should have made him feel better, but it didn't. It was meant to, but if nothing else, it made him feel worse. He wondered if it was possible to go back to what was normal for them.

             Was what they had before normal to begin with?

             Their conversation was cut short when Sarge finally came outside. He yelled at Grif for not having Simmons in his armor until it was explained that it had to be fixed anyway. Sarge then yelled at him for not fixing the armor.

             “Holy hell, would you just shut up?” Grif muttered.

             “What was that?” Sarge snapped.

             “Okay, fine, whatever, I'll do it,” Grif said.

             “Have it done quick, now. I'm going to take Donut out on patrol. Be back in a few hours. Simmons, don't let Grif burn down the base while we're gone.”

             “Uhn, yes, sir?” Simmons replied reluctantly. “Am I saying that right? Feels right, I think.”

             “Hot damn, I think the boy is getting his memory back,” Sarge said, clapping Simmons heftily on the shoulder.

             Grif didn't like the wince and pained look on Simmons' face, but at least he didn't complain too loudly.

             “Good morning, Simmons! How are you feeling?” Donut said as he came out to join the other three.

             “Better, I think,” Simmons said.

             “Looks like you still got a pretty big bump on the back of your head. You ought to put some ice on it or something, get the swelling to go down.” Donut suggested.

             “Hm, Donut's got a good point. You make a lousy nurse, Grif,” Sarge said. “Donut, I think you should stay here with Simmons, Grif, you go out on patrol.”

             “Sarge, sir, if it's all the same to you, well, Grif has been taking good care of me,” Simmons said, not really wanting to be left alone at the base with Donut. Truth be told, he wouldn't want to be left alone with Sarge, either.

             “I agree, plus, Grif knows a lot more about Simmons than I do. If Simmons remembers something and needs to ask questions, it's much more likely Grif would know the answer better than I would,” Donut pointed out. “I really think that it would be best if Grif stayed with Simmons.”

             Despite the discomfort Simmons felt in Donuts presence, he wished he could somehow thank the pink private for his intervention. Maybe later he could talk to him or leave him a nice note.

             Sarge grumbled. “I don't know, Grif isn't the brightest color in the crayon box, if ya know what I mean.”

             “Face it, Sarge, he knows more about Simmons than we do. It's only fair.”

             Sarge mumbled nonsense, not liking the idea but he couldn't deny the logic. He also knew that Donut wouldn't let it rest if he didn't get his own way. Sarge walked away, muttering to himself. Donut stayed for another moment and Grif just knew, just fucking knew, that he was smirking knowingly at him.

             “Now you two boys have fun and behave yourselves,” Donut said in a motherly tone as he turned away.

             Grif sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was almost glad he had something to do, maybe that would take his mind off wanting to kill Donut.

             “Come on, lets go inside,” Grif muttered.

             Once inside, Grif found a hammer and told Simmons that he should wander around the base to re-familiarize himself again.

             “But what if I get lost?” Simmons asked.

             Grif shook his head. “The base isn't that big, man, don't worry. Start in our room.”

             “Our room? We share a room? Together?”

             “Yeah, it was either that or squish into the closet. Donut has that privilege. So, yeah, is better than the alternative.”

             “Oh, no, it's not that, I don't mind, I think.”

             Grif sighed. Simmons was blushing again and looking at the ground. Damn him for looking sexy when he was embarrassed!

             “Look, man, don't worry so much and just relax. Go down the hall, turn right, the first door to your right is the door to our room. My bed is the one that's a complete mess, yours is the one missing the blanket but otherwise perfectly made. Feel free to do whatever you feel you need to do.”

             Simmons was still looking at the ground. “What would you do?”

            _You mean besides throw you on your bed and fuck you until you are either senseless or you remember me, us, what we have together?_ Grif wanted to say.

             But instead his signature smirk slipped into place. “Hell, man, I would get a nap in before Sarge got back.”

             Simmons looked up and a small smile started to play across his face. “Yeah, well, you sure you don't need any help?”

             “There's only one hammer. You should concentrate on getting your memory back, it's important. Really important.”

             Simmons met Grif's eyes and something about them made his heart skip a few beats. He didn't know what it was, he knew he had seen it before, but his brain couldn't provide him with the answers he wanted; hell, it wasn't providing him with any answers at all. It was making his head hurt, though, so he looked away.

             What was it about Grif, anyways?

             Without another word, he turned and walked away towards their room.

             Grif turned, hammer in hand, and gripped the back plate. He hoped his hitting it as hard as he could wasn't going to damage the piece further, but it was the only thing he could do to keep himself from feeling anymore.


	8. The Party That You're Currently Trying to Reach is Unavailable...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world tries (but fails) to come crashing back.

            Simmons wandered down the hall slowly, looking around, hoping that something would spark some sort of memory, but the cold gray halls said nothing to him. He stopped for a moment to pull his dogs tags out to recheck his name. According to them, his first name was Dick.

            “That can't possibly be right,” he murmured.

            He continued down the hall, turned right, and saw the first door on the right was slightly open. He pushed the door open wider, slowly, as if expecting someone else to be in the room, but of course it was empty. He walked in and looked around. Against the far wall was what he assumed had to be his bed, it was much more neat than the bed that was against the wall closest to the door. He went over to it, inspecting the sheet and pillow carefully; the sheet was flat, the pillow was straight, no wrinkles could be found anywhere. He reached down to brush a bit of dust off of the pillow. He straightened and turned to what had to be Grif's bed. The blanket was a bundled mess, the pillow was lumpy and half hanging off one end of the bed, and the bottom sheet was wrinkled in so many place that it almost looked like it was made that way.

            Simmons wrinkled his nose and set to work straightening out the mess. He couldn't believe that they would room him with someone who was obviously so messy.

            Once the bed looked at least decent, he turned to see that there was a desk against the far wall in the back of the room. He walked over to it to inspect it. The shelf on top was filled with books, a few about chemistry and physics, a math book, some books labeled Star Trek, novels by Jules Verne, and a strange book titled “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy Collection.” The lower part of the desk held a red laptop, right now it was closed, the symbol of the Red Army painted on it. There was a thick, leather, maroon colored folder propped up and Simmons picked it up. The feel of it seemed somewhat familiar and he opened it to gaze at the certificate propped inside of it.

            It was his Bachelor's Degree from Halo University. The name Dick Simmons was printed in black calligraphy under the name of the university.

            “Damn it.”

            He had graduated with high honors in the field of “Military Sciences.” It didn't make any sense to him; he couldn't remember going to school, he couldn't remember graduating, or even making the decision for his major. What was his major about, anyway?

            “Ow! Mother fucker!”

            Simmons left the bedroom quickly. He got a little turned around, but he did find his way back to where Grif was. The hammer lay as if were haphazardly thrown on the table along with other pieces of maroon armor, the back plate was on the floor, Grif glaring at it with his thumb stuck in his mouth.

            “What happened?” Simmons asked, his heart in his throat.

            “Fucking hit my thumb,” Grif mumbled around the finger in his mouth.

            “Oh, let me see,” Simmons still had his diploma in hand and he set it aside. It reminded him to ask as he took Grif's hand into his own. “So, my first name really is Dick, huh?”

            Grif let Simmons take his hand and nodded. “Yeah, I asked you that, too. You said it kind of sucked having to grow up with it.”

           “I would think. Did I ever say why? I mean, if my parents named me Richard, it would have made more sense.”

            “Well, sort of, you only said that it was a family name and I let it drop.”

            “Oh.”

            Simmons looked over Grif's thumb as well as the rest of his hand. He traced a finger lightly around the injured digit, making Grif's breath hitch slightly.

            “Sorry,” Simmons offered. “Luckily, I don't think it's broken.”

            “Yeah, thanks, man,” Grif said as he tried to pull his hand away.

            Tried, but couldn't. Simmons held on, Grif looked up and their eyes met. Grif looked into the cool blue-green and he could tell that something was going on in their depths.

            Was he remembering anything?

            Was he remembering him?

            Simmons stared right back into the golden brown eyes, they were hypnotizing him and at the same time, things seemed to shift around in his muddled brain. Images came to him in painful pulses, like bright lights flashing in his eyes.

            He stood in line with others in maroon robes, though he seemed to be the only one adorned with a red and white sash and a gold medal was around his neck.

            Then he was standing in a line with other young men, an Asian man with a red tattoo on the side of his neck was screaming orders in his face, but then that scene switched to him standing on top of the base, Grif by his side. The two of them were contemplating life's greatest mysteries, like why were they there in the middle of a box canyon, anyway?

            “Simmons? Hey, you okay?”

            Something inside his chest made it pound, his vision grayed as more images flashed in his head, but they weren't clear. He felt hands gripping his shoulders.

            “Hey, Simmons? Hey, what is it?”

            Simmons reached up his hands to grip onto Grif's biceps, feeling his legs weaken.

            “Make it stop,” he whispered as his body gave out and he fell forward.

            “Simmons? Hey!” Grif switched his hands quickly so he caught Simmons under his arms. “Oh, geez.”

            Simmons was much lighter without his armor, but Griff still had some difficulty maneuvering him around so he could pick him up. He walked to their room and put Simmons in his own bed. Grif turned to get another pillow to make him more comfortable but was a little stunned at the sight of his made up bed.

            Shaking his head, knowing his overly neat roommate was at least up to his usual devices, he grabbed his pillow and propped up Simmons' head a bit more so he wasn't leaning on the bump on the back of his head too much.

            “Moron,” Grif admonished. He sighed, reaching down briefly to swipe at the reddish brown hair before leaving to finish fixing the armor.

 

_Some time later..._

            “What the hell was that?” Simmons murmured as he stirred from his sleep.

            Grif looked up. He was sitting on his bed, cleaning the last piece of Simmons' armor.

            “You tell me,” Grif said.

            Simmons sat up. “I kept seeing these weird things, I think they were memories.”

            “Really? About what?”

            Simmons racked his brain to try to remember, but it was useless.

            “I don't know, God, this sucks! It's so frustrating!”

            Simmons' hands went to his hair and he looked ready to yank it out. Grif frowned, setting the piece of armor and cloth on the floor, then he moved to the bed.

            “Hey, calm down and take it easy,” Grif said, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing Simmons. “You can't expect it all to come back at once, as a matter of fact, so far that seemed like that would be dangerous. No more fainting, you hear?”

            Simmons scowled at him. “I did not faint, I blacked out.”

            Grif rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man.”

            “How's your thumb?”

            “Hm? Ah, it swelled a bit, and my nail turned all black. Sarge wanted to cut it off when he saw it. Really wish I knew why the asshole has it in for me.”

            “Wait, Sarge? How long was I unconscious for?”

            “About five hours or so, Sarge and Donut came back a little over an hour ago.”

            “Huh. Well, let me see your thumb.”

            “Not much to see,” Grif said with a shrug, but he scooted closer so Simmons didn't have to lean forward too much and gave over his left hand.

            Simmons didn't really want to see Grif's thumb, he knew fully well that Grif was right, that there really wasn't anything to see and he knew there wasn't anything that could be done. Simmons just wanted an excuse to touch him again. Somehow, touching Grif seemed to trigger something and he wanted to see if it would happen again.

            To his disappointment, it didn't, but it felt soothing to feel Grif's skin against his own. After looking at his blackened thumb, he turned the hand over to trace circles on the palm.

            “Hey, what are you doing?” Grif asked. He liked it, but, why was Simmons doing this?

           “I dunno,” Simmons murmured truthfully.

            “This is actually your hand, you know,”

            “Huh?”

            Simmons noticed that the pale skin on Grif's left hand matched the pale patch of skin over his eye, which also matched the skin on his own hands.

            “Yeah, see, when Sarge had the crazy idea to turn you into a robot, I got crushed by our jeep.”

            Simmons dropped Grif's, well, his, whoevers, hand. He looked a little shocked and disturbed.

            “Don't faint on me again.”

            “I did not faint! What the hell am I, Grif? Am I human? Robot? Then why-?”

            Simmons began to hyperventilate, which was strange if he was really part machine.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hang on, Simmons, chill out, man,” Grif said, scooting even closer and putting his hands on Simmons' shoulders.

            “Then what am I, Grif, and you better tell me the truth!”

            Grif blinked at the look Simmons gave him, it was the look of a very shocked and very frightened individual. It was probably one of the strangest things that Grif had ever seen.

            “You want the truth and that's fair, but I have to tell you that there is a lot of it that won't seem physically possible. If you can handle that, I will tell you, but if you freak out on me, then you can figure it out on your own.”

            After all, I can't take anymore of this shit than you can, Grif thought.

            Simmons nodded mutely. Grif sighed and took his hands off.

            “Okay, then. I'm going to give you the really short version. We used to have a robot solider named Lopez and he switched sides. For whatever reason, Sarge seems to absolutely need a robotic soldier, and since you're his favorite and trustworthy, you were chosen.”

            “Okay.”

           “Well, during this time we got attacked and the jeep rolled over me, I guess, since I got knocked out I don't really know what happened. The next thing I know, I'm waking up and find that about three quarters of my body was replaced with body parts from you, and you were officially a cyborg.”

            Simmons nodded slowly, taking all of the information in. Grif was right, this all didn't seem physically possible, but in some strange way it did seem to make sense. He sighed, holding his head in his hands.

            “So, I'm not really me, anyway?” Simmons asked softly.

            “No, no, it's not like that at all,” Grif said. “Look, I had Donut explain it to me once. You still have your own brain, which is why you've lost your memory. If it was a computer, it would be easy to just reinstall your memory chips or something, I guess, hell I don't know anything about computers. You have most of your own skin, some patches are synthetic, but Donut was able to match the color to your own skin tone. Only Donut would be that detail oriented.”

            “Yeah, no kidding, that guy sure is into a lot of girly stuff.”

            Grif shrugged. “I mostly ignore him these days. The guy is harmless. The point is, is that you are still you.”

            Simmons took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah, I guess so,” he gave a small, scoffing laugh. “Great day for me; I find out I have a terrible first name, that I'm a cyborg, and I still can't remember anything on my own.”

            Grif blinked, thinking. “What's your name?”

            “Dick, Dick Simmons.”

            “And what's my name?”

            “Grif.”

            Grif smiled. “Good enough. Look, seriously, don't worry too much about it right now. You armor is all cleaned, polished, I fixed it, mostly. It's still a bit dented in some spots but it should be fine. By tomorrow, Sarge wants you to go back to active duty. Not too bad of an idea, maybe getting back to your regular schedule of kissing Sarge's ass will bring your memory back.”

            Simmons gave him a look, Grif grinned at him and got off the bed. He turned off the lights and crawled into his own bed. He heard Simmons moving on his bed, making himself comfortable again to go to sleep.

            Grif let out a quiet sigh. Sure, Simmons was picking up on some things, but it still hurt that he didn't remember Grif's first name. Grif was thankful for the dark room, his eyes stung, and if it was because of tears, he definitely didn't want Simmons to see him cry.


	9. Sometimes You Just Need a Day to Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world takes a second shot.  
> Abusive father in this chapter, just a quick warning.

                Over the next four days, Simmons spent a lot of his time with Sarge, who was attempting to reteach him everything. All at once. Grif was amused to watch them sometimes, especially when one of Sarge's ridiculous notions rubbed Simmons the wrong way and he would argue with his superior. Of course, this also lead to Simmons' own frustration, which only make it all the more amusing to Grif.

             Simmons and Grif didn't speak much, Sarge held the maroon soldier's attention for the entire day, so Simmons was exhausted be the time he was relieved of duty.

             On the fifth day, Simmons was allowed him a day to rest. He has nearly fainted (blacked out!) the day before and both Donut and Grif convinced Sarge that if Simmons did indeed pass out again, the possibility of a head injury was high and it could erase all the work he had put in to retraining Simmons.

             Grif, of course, had no idea if this was really true, as far as he knew another head injury could knock the sense back into him, but who wanted to take the chance?

             Simmons didn't really know what to do with his day off. He woke up before the others did, but instead of donning the armor, he put on a set of red camo fatigues, a red tank top, and a matching red camo jacket, tucking his dog tags under the tank top's neckline. He went to the desk and grabbed a book, going back to his bed and lying on his stomach to read.

             “Up an' at 'em, dirt bags!” Sarge barked in the hall, pounding on the doors. He gave an extra pound on the door to the double bedroom. “Rise 'n shine, butter ball! Simmons! Wake Grif up!”

             “Yes, sir!” Simmons called.

             Grif groaned. “Man, even with a fucked up memory, you're still a kiss ass.”

             “If you're awake, why does Sarge need me to wake you?”

             “I usually ignore him, that's why.”

             Grif got out of his bed and started to slip off his pajamas, which were just soft pants and a t-shirt, the outline of his dog tags could be seen over his sternum.

             “Do you want me to leave?” Simmons asked.

             “Why?” he asked as the shirt came off, the dog tags clinked against each other.

             “Because you need to get dressed.”

             Grif shrugged, making his way to the drawers, leaving his crumpled pajamas behind, now clad in orange boxers and of course the tags, which clinked with each step.

             “It doesn't bother me.”

             Simmons turned his eyes back to his book. Well, rather he tried to turn back to his book. He couldn't help glancing up past the pages of the book to look at Grif's body. There were some other scars, a long one across his back, there were some stretch marks on his side and a few up his back. He had a tattoo of a dark figure on the back of his neck. Simmons was intrigued by it, wondering what it meant.

             Grif glanced over his shoulder and caught Simmons looking, a faint blush on his cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes back to his book.

             “I don't mind you checking me out, you know,” Grif said with a grin.

             Simmons' blush deepened, Grif knew because it came up to the tips of his ears and his grin widened. He didn't originally plan to change his boxers but now he just couldn't help himself.

             Something had to spark some sort of memory, right?

             Slowly, he slipped off his boxers, bending down to push them past his knees. Despite not being in the best of shape, Grif was fairly flexible, considering.

             Simmons glanced up, if nothing else, wondering why Grif was bending down, and all he could see was the slightly tanned curve of his behind, his dog tags dangling from his neck, his face hidden behind his bangs. His breath hitched and he firmly put his nose back in his book before it started to bleed.

             Grif smirked, stepping out of his boxers and went to the drawers to pull out another pair of boxer shorts and a clean black bodysuit. He pulled the clothes on slowly, almost hoping that Simmons would take a second look. He didn't, but that was okay. Grif walked back to his bed to sit on the edge and start pulling his armor on.

             “Uh, Grif?” Simmons asked, his voice almost squeaked.

             “Yeah?”

             “What should I do today?”

             Grif sighed. “Hell, I don't know. Take a shower, relax, get some extra nap time in, you know.”

             “Do I have any other memorabilia here?”

             “Memero what?”

             “Any pictures, letters from home, that sort of thing?”

             Grif considered this for a moment as he pulled his arm plates on. “Huh, actually, I have no idea. Nothing that I remember, unless you hid stuff under your mattress or something like that.”

             “Grif? You ready? Sarge is going to have a fit if you're not outside in thirty seconds!” Donut said from outside the door.

             “Yeah, yeah,” Grif stood from his bed, pulling on the last armored glove and his helmet was tucked under his arm.

             He shoved past Donut, who watched him go, then peeked into the room.

             “How are you doing, Simmons?” Donut asked. “Anything coming back yet?”

             “I'm not sure, a lot of things are still fuzzy,” Simmons said, putting his book down.

             “Well, maybe this will help,” Donut walked into the room, a silver and red object was in his hand. “Here, I have some pictures in here that might help. Feel free to look around.”

             With a wave and a wink, he was off. Simmons shook his head and looked at the camera.

             Figuring out the functions were easy enough, and he started flipping through the pictures. A lot of what was on there were pictures of the Reds, in full armor. Some of the pictures were shot funny, probably because Donut was also in full armor and couldn't hold the camera properly. Simmons flipped through them, it didn't seem to spark much since it just seemed that the majority of the pictures were of them just standing around in, on top of, and around the base. He was about to give up when he finally came to pictures of the Reds without their helmets and in regular clothes.

             One picture looked like some sort of holiday. Red and white banners were all over the inside of the base, apparently someone had added a decoration with blue and apparently Sarge didn't like it. There was a picture of Sarge tearing down the decoration while Donut tried to stop him. Simmons smiled while at the same time wishing he knew what holiday they were celebrating. He could guess why Sarge didn't appreciate the blue decoration.

             He kept going until he got to the last picture on the little digital camera and his eyes widened slightly.

             It was the picture Donut had taken days before; Simmons was still unconscious, Grif was seated next to his bed, his head on the edge of the bed, looking almost like he wanted to rest his head on Simmons' shoulder, one arm stretched out, his fingers looking as if they were reaching for Simmons' hand.

             Simmons stared, and stared, not sure what to make of the picture. Was Grif really that worried about him that he slept next to him? When exactly did this happen? How long was Simmons unconscious for before he woke up with no more memories?

             He went through the pictures again, looking at them more closely and with a different set of eyes. He noticed a slightly odd trend in all of the pictures.

             He was never without Grif.

             Never.

             The two always stood next to each other, were always in the same room or within the same five foot radius of space. As the pictures progressed to more current times, he noticed that as time went by, him and Grif closed their proximity to the point where the last few pictures before the one of him unconscious in bed, he and Grif were practically on top of one another and he was sure their hands were brushing if not totally touching each other.

             “What does this mean?” he murmured. But of course, the camera did not answer.

             He set the camera aside and lay back on the bed, his hands folded behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling, wondering, contemplating, hoping that something would come to him, but there was nothing.

             “Maybe I should take a shower, maybe it will help clear my head,” Simmons said.

            He figured that it had been a few days since he last showered, he hadn't showered since he had woken up, so maybe he would follow Grif's advice; shower and take a nap.

             It took a little searching, but he found a towel and shampoo. In the shower stalls he saw that there were already small bars of soap. He made a face at the sparse curtain that could be pulled across, saying that it would give the illusion of privacy was giving it too much credit.

             But everyone was on patrol, and by now Simmons had learned and knew that Sarge would work Donut and Grif like dogs for the entire day, so the probability of being walked in on was slim.

             Simmons reflected briefly that he wasn't quite sure what made him so shy. He wasn't ashamed of his body; sure, there were a few things about it that he would have like changed, but sometimes the more logical part of his head wondered at his need to keep his underwear on in the shower. Grif had mentioned it before, saying that it was due to him being a shy nerd.

             Not that there was anything wrong with being smart.

            Simmons slipped off his clothes, leaving only his dog tags on, turned on the water and stepped into the spray. Though now he was partly robotic, Simmons knew it wasn't as much of a necessity to shower every day, but now and then was sufficient to remove any accumulated dirt and grime collected while out and about the battle field. But despite all of that, Simmons liked the feeling of being clean and he enjoyed the feeling of water on his skin.

             Simmons tilted his head back, making sure his head was thoroughly soaked before reaching back to run his fingers through the wet locks, testing the bump in the back of his head; it was mostly gone.

             What felt like a ghosting of fingers trailing up his stomach started him. His eyes flashed open and hands moved to cover himself, but no one was there. He wrinkled his nose and turned to face the spray to wash his front, but then something dragged up his spine, making him jump.

             “Who's there?” he demanded, wiping water from his eyes.

             But there was no answer, because there was no one. Simmons shuddered and reached for the shampoo, deciding to finish his shower quickly before anything else strange happened to him.

             As he rinsed the soap from his hair, a memory came back, hitting him hard enough to cause him to waver. He reached out to steady himself on the tiled wall, the last of the shampoo slipped from his hair, some into his eyes, but he ignored the burning sensation in favor of getting his breathing under control.

             Something slid against his body, pressing, hot and damp. Hair tickled his nose, lips and teeth were at his throat. His body ached for more, his brain said to stop, and it left Simmons wondering what they were debating about.

             Suddenly the scene seemed to change and he was falling, flailing. He didn't fall far and a wall stopped him. A large figure stood before him, eyes wide and flaring. Simmons could feel the anger radiating and he looked up. It was like looking at a mirror, the figure looked like Simmons, but about two and a half decades older.

             “No son of mine is going to be some god damn faggot!” he thundered.

             “Dad, that's not fair!” Simmons felt compelled to fight back despite not really understanding what was going on.

             “You are living under my roof, my money has been spent paying for your pansy ass schooling, and now you are going to join the military and learn how to become a real man!”

             Simmons knew that he would obey, he had to make his father happy, even though he was wrong.

             Warm hands were suddenly rubbing his shoulders, kneading tense muscle.

             “ _It's okay._ ”

             Simmons' eyes snapped open. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting on the floor, he figured that maybe it had not been too long since there were still some soap suds that hadn't washed down the drain.

             He got back on his feet, turned the water a little colder to rise out his eyes, which were still burning, as he tried to make sense of the memory.

             The man yelling at him was definitely his father, Simmons knew that for sure. He remembered what had happened on that day very clearly. He was in his junior year of college and he had been caught making out with the first boy (first person, really) he was brave enough to bring to his room. His father had entered his bedroom without knocking, the other boy ran out in horror and Simmons was pushed against the wall when he tried to follow. It was something that would forever strain the already shaky relationship between father and son.

             But the moment of intimacy before, it couldn't have been with that first boy, they hadn't got past a few kisses and after that terrible evening they never spoke to each other again. What about the reassurance at the end? The touch felt somewhat familiar, it was soothing, also intimate, private. Whoever it was, whoever he was with, was definitely his lover.

             Simmons turned the water even colder to rinse his whole body, deciding to forgo washing his body. He didn't feel right, he felt exposed, he wanted to finish and go back to bed.


	10. The Exposition! What a Show! The Exposition! Here We Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One soldier's world becomes a sea of questions and the other has to answer for it.  
> And you totally get a cookie if you get the title reference :-P

            “Hey, how was your day off?” Grif asked.

             Simmons was lying on his stomach in bed, fingering through a Star Trek book idly. He spent the rest of the morning and afternoon thinking about his visions and what connection they could possibly have with what photos he could see on the camera. He also spent some time looking around the room some more, wondering if he did indeed hide other photographs, any letters from home, since he was a man who liked his privacy, but his search turned up nothing.

             Grif took off his helmet and tossed it aside in the corner. Simmons sat up.

             “You okay? Did something come back?” Grif asked. He saw the look on Simmons face and it sparked a flash of excitement in Grif.

             “A little, yeah,” Simmons reached behind his back when he felt the camera had slid over the covers and bumped him. His fingers closed around the device tightly as his stomach knotted in nervousness.

             “What was it?” Grif stepped closer.

             Simmons rose with the camera in his tightly clutched hand.

             “I'm kind of hoping that you will help me figure that out.”

             He turned the camera on with a slight press from his thumb, he knew that it automatically showed the last picture you viewed, so it was on the one where he and Grif were sleeping.

             Grif froze when he saw the picture. He recognized the camera.

             “Explain.” Simmons said, expectancy in his eyes.

             “Well, I was worried about you,” Grif said, taking the camera and looking closer at the picture.

             Simmons raised an eyebrow, apparently not buying what Grif was saying.

             “Look, just wait here, I'll be right back.”

             Grif all but ran from the room, closing the door behind him, gripping the camera so tight it was a wonder it didn't break. He went down the hall and knocked firmly on the last door.

             “Come in!” Donut's sing song of a voice said from within.

             Grif opened the door and was careful not to slam it shut, though he really wanted to. Donut was sitting cross legged on his bed, his armor was off and he was just clad in pink boxers, busy cleaning his armor. He stood when Grif entered.

             “Oh, hi, Grif!”

             “Don't you 'oh, hi!' me, you little shit,” Grif growled. “What was this?”

             Grif thrust the camera towards Donut, who's face clearly said that he didn't appreciate Grif's words or harsh tone. He sighed and took the camera and brightened a bit at the picture.

             “Oh, I was going to surprise you with that. It was just the perfect photo op.”

             “Simmons saw it.”

             “So?”

             “So maybe he's not ready for it?”

             Donut stared at him. “Wait, you mean to say that you didn't tell him? Grif!”

             “I don't want to freak the guy out, all right? I had a good thing going with him, he's naturally shy, it could have destroyed the Simmons I know if I just flat out told him and-” Grif babbled.

             “Grif, you _fucking idiot_!”

             Grif's mouth snapped shut at the shout, too shocked to continue. Donut glared daggers at him before huffing and pushing Grif to sit on his bed, which Grif did with little resistance. Donut stood in from of him, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply before he looked at Grif, his hands on his hips.

             “Look, I'm not going to sit here and pretend to know what you and Simmons have. That's your business. If you ever want to divulge, I'm all ears, but until then, this is all yours. However, I will not condone your lying to him.”

             “I'm not lying! I'm not saying anything!”

             “You might as well lie, Grif. You are holding keys to his memories, memories of you, your lives together.”

             “He had a life before me, Donut.

             “Yes, but right now, you are part of that life. That's what's happening now,. What you two have is part of that life. If you two really love each other, you each are each other's life.”

             Grif shifted uncomfortably. “But what if he doesn't want me in his life? Maybe this is his chance to be, well, you know, normal.”

             “There's nothing abnormal about being with the person you love, despite gender, race, whatever, and by not telling him, you're taking that choice away from him.”

             Grif didn't say anything, too dumbstruck now. He knew what Donut was saying was right, but he knew it to be more complicated than that. He sighed and buried his face in his hands and tried not to cry, but the stinging in his eyes was a telltale sign that he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it, perhaps.

             Donut sighed, feeling bad for losing his own temper and sat down carefully next to Grif.

             “Look, why aren't you telling Simmons the truth? Why didn't you tell him when he showed you the picture?”

             Grif did his best to keep from shaking, which resulted in a slight shudder.

             “I'm scared,” he whispered. Donut frowned and leaned closer to hear him. “I'm so, so scared. I was scared of our first time, I'm so scared of losing him, and I'm so scared that if I bring it up too soon, he'll not want to be a part of me ever again.”

             Donut's frown deepened. Obviously there was a lot more to his teammates than he had ever known, and he was wondering now if he wanted to know. But the box was open and he guessed there was no stopping it now.

             “Grif, I don't believe that's how it works. If he loved you once, he'll love you again. He still does love you. If he didn't, I think he would have left after finding the picture. But you don't know until you talk to him. If nothing else, Grif, do you really want to deny Simmons the knowledge? It's something he'll have to come to terms with one of these days.”

             Grif took a deep breath and calmed himself, wiping the couple of tears from his eyes as he sat up.

             “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “Whatever, fuck it, it's got to be easier to tell him than walking on eggshells about the whole situation.”

             Donut beamed at him. “Good. I'm sure everything will work out.”

             Donut couldn't help himself and threw his arms around Grif's shoulders in the biggest hug his smaller body could muster. Grif grunted slightly in disapproval, but patted Donut's elbow.

             “Thanks,” he muttered. With another sigh he stood. “All right, let's see how I can screw things up more than they already are, then.”

             “Everything will work out,” Donut repeated.

             “Yeah. Thanks again, Donut,” Grif started towards the door but paused before opening it. He turned to Donut one last time. “Hey, just no more pictures, okay?”

             Donut grinned. “No promises.”

             Grif nodded and decided to leave it at that for the evening, and walked out of Donut's room.

             Then he walked straight into Simmons.

             “Oh, uh, hey, I thought I told you to stay in our room,” Grif said evenly.

             Simmons' face looked neutral, but he grabbed Grif by the arm and pushed him towards their room.

             “You have some explaining to do, Grif.”

             “Psh, yeah, what else is new?”


	11. Charting New Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two solder's worlds become one.  
> Sex in this chapter... I know, finally.

            Grif and Simmons stood in their room. Grif blushing slightly, Simmons with his arms crossed and one toe tapping slowly.

             “Okay, maybe we should sit down,” Grif said softly. He turned to sit on his bed and Simmons followed.

             “Look, I don't want to make this difficult,” Simmons said. “But I want something to make sense, today. While I was in the shower I felt weird things, very, uhm, intimate things, and I'm beginning to think that you're the only one who knows why.”

             “Well, yeah, plus you were eavesdropping outside of Donut's room. I'm proud of you, Simmons, I didn't know you had it in you.”

             Simmons shot him a look. “You mentioned our first time. Let's start with that.”

             Grif was sort of hoping that he could distract him, but he also knew that there was no way he could face Donut in the morning and tell him that he had chickened out yet again. Grif wanted to tell Simmons, but fear was holding him back.

             “Okay,” Grif relented.

 

** Six months earlier..... **

             It was late and both Simmons and Grif couldn't sleep. The two of them lay in bed, staring at each other across the room. They had been confiding in each other, their friendly relationship slowly growing to something more, they had even kissed a few times, and now it seemed they were dancing on thin ropes around one of the final steps that would cross their “just friends” boundary. They both knew it; it was just a matter of who was going to make the first move.

             Grif wanted to; it seemed logical that he would be the one to, but for all the confidence the man outwardly displayed, inside he was shaking. It was something that he had done most of his life, and only those who knew him well also knew that this was what he went through every time his relationships became serious.

             Simmons also wanted to, but he was a bit afraid of scaring Grif away. He had to admit that he was still practically a virgin, he had only slept with one man back in college, so by now it was years ago. Not that it really mattered because sex wasn't hard to figure out. There wasn't that great of a mystery.

             But the two of them just stared at each other from opposite sides of the room.

             Simmons was the one who couldn't take anymore first. He sat up, throwing the covers back and got out of his bed. Grif sat up, a little surprised by the man's sudden movement.

             “Simmons? What's-”

             Grif was silenced by a kiss. Simmons cupped his face in his hands, the kiss sweet and chaste. Grif didn't know what to do, so he just sat there. Simmons wanted more, so he swiped his tongue across Grif's lips, one hand traveling to Grif's earlobes, touching lightly, outlining the shape of his ear before his fingers trailed down his neck. Grif opened his mouth to take a breath, but only an invading tongue entered the warm, wet cavern of his mouth.

             Grif reached up to grab a hold on something, and caught Simmons's t-shirt. Simmons moved forward, leaning Grif back onto his bed and settling his weight gently over the other man. Simmons touched his tongue to Grif's, coaxing him to make some sort of motion, an invitation to play. Grif took it and did his best to keep up. Simmons dragged a hand down to trace the taut muscles of Grif's shoulder and collarbone, his other hand buried in Grif's hair. That hand pulled Grif's head back and Simmons bent to kiss down his chin, down his neck and started nibbling at his collarbone.

             Grif's body arched under the touches and kisses and he let out a grunt, trying to not sound too eager, but failing. Simmons came back up to claim his mouth again, but then he pulled back to look into Grif's eyes.

             “Are you okay?” Simmons asked.

             Grif swallowed and nodded, but his eyes were wide.

             “Talk to me,” Simmons said, tracing a finger across Grif's mouth.

             “What are we doing?” Grif asked, breathing hard. “I mean, not that I mind, but, I-” he cut himself off and shook his head.

             Simmons smirked slightly and settled over Grif again, pressing his body down and nuzzling his neck. Grif was damn adorable when he was all flustered and nervous.

             “We've talked. We know that there is something between us. I know that you knew that this was coming. If you're not ready, we don't have to do anything.”

             Grif gripped him tightly. “It's not that. Well, okay, yeah, it is. I just don't know what to do.”

             Simmons looked up at him with a smirk. “You're a virgin?”

             Grif scowled at him. “No.”

             Simmons' smirk grew.

             “Okay, only slept with a couple of girls during college.”

             Simmons chuckled and went back to nuzzling Grif's neck, his tongue darting out to draw a line or two.

             “We'll take it slow. I promise. I've only slept with one guy myself.”

             “Really?”

             “Yeah. Junior year of college. Couldn't take the raging hormones anymore and neither could one of the guys I was studying with.”

             “Oh, man, I would love to hear that story.”

             “Hm, maybe another time.”

             Their mouths met again, Grif was more relaxed and confident and showed it by letting his tongue trace its own line around Simmons' mouth before entering to explore. Grif's hands were in Simmons' hair, fingers trailing down the back of his neck before coming up to rake fingernails over his scalp. Simmons' hands trailed down Grif's naked sides, Grif rarely wore shirts to bed, his thumb circling soft skin. When they reached Grif's hips, he moved his hands to press gently at Grif's stomach and pushed them up to his chest, his warm palms resting over hardened nipples.

             Their kiss broke, Grif gasping for air, Simmons moved down to lick at the spots where his palms used to occupy. Grif shifted beneath him, neither of the girls he had been with touched him like this. Simmons dropped more of his weight against him, which meant his stomach pressed against Grif's growing erection, which made the other man's hips thrust up.

             Not seeming to appreciate the movement, Simmons' hands pressed firmly at Grif's hips, holding him down. Grif whimpered slightly at his restriction of movement.

             “For someone who is so lazy, you sure are impatient,” Simmons murmured against his skin.

             “Fuck you, man.”

             Simmons chuckled as his mouth trailed lower. “I thought that was the point.”

             Grif opened his mouth to retort, but whatever he was going to say was lost as a wet tongue twisted inside his belly button, sending a jolt directly to his groin. He tried his best to hold as still as possible, afraid that moving would make Simmons stop.

             After a time, Grif sat up, Simmons did, too, and Grif crushed his mouth against the other. He tugged at the edge of the others shirt and he could feel Simmons' face heat up at the wordless suggestion. They separated for only a moment so the shirt could be slipped past Simmons' head. In the second his head was back, Grif attacked his exposed neck, drawing a pleased sigh from the other man. He licked the chains that held the dog tags, the taste of metal combining with salty skin, just before biting down on the soft junction between his neck and shoulder.

             Simmons stiffened, gripping Grif's arms, letting out his held breath in a moan as Grif soothed the bite by pressing his tongue flat on the spot. He continued to draw teasing line with his tongue across the collarbone, dropping kisses and little nips across his throat while Simmons' hands grazed over Grif's back, fingering scars, tracing over bones. His hands continued down until he reached the elastic waistband of Grif's pajama bottoms. He slipped past the elastic, almost pleased to find that Grif was not wearing underwear, and squeezed his bottom gently.

             Grif froze for a second, he bit his lower lip to stifle his groan as his buttocks were kneaded by the slightly calloused hands. He grabbed Simmons' dog tags, wrapping the chain once around his hand to pull Simmons' face close to his.

             “You're evil,” he growled against the others mouth.

             “I can be.”

             “Oh, yeah?” Grif's other hand shot straight between Simmons' legs, gripping his erection through the cloth. “Two can play at that game.”

             Simmons sucked in a breath, gripping Grif's ass harder, his forehead rested on Grif's shoulder as he panted.

             “Damn, you're bigger than you look,” Grif mused, still stroking him slowly.

             Simmons couldn't do much with his hands, so they just slipped up to grab at Grif's waist. Grif released him suddenly so he could reach into the pants. Simmons' head fell back, a strained moan escaped his throat.

             “Oh, God,” the words barely made it past his panting lips.

             “I'm here.”

             “That's not funny.”

             “Yes, it was.”

             “Dumb ass,” Simmons growled. He then brought his head up and leaned close to Grif's ear. “This is going to end real soon if you don't stop, just so you know.”

             “That a bad thing?”

             “Yeah, tonight it will be.”

             Grif nodded, giving the hard rod a squeeze before releasing it. Then he soon found Simmons' mouth closing on his own.

             “Hang on a second, take off your pants,” Simmons said, then he disentangled himself from Grif.

             Grif obeyed as Simmons walked quickly back to his own bed, reaching under the mattress to pull something out and returned to Grif's bed. He slipped his own pajama pants off before climbing back onto the bed, once again pressing his body to Grif's as he kissed him.

             Grif never thought that feeling a man's body against his own would feel so good. Simmons' mouth was soft, hardened muscles slid against his, their unfettered groins pressing and rubbing against each other just felt so good, as if they were made for each other.

             Who knew, maybe they were.

             Then Grif felt a small bottle being pressed into one hand.

             “I'll need your help,” Simmons murmured in his ear.

             “Huh?” Grif brought the unlabeled bottle of clear liquid up, but he knew what was inside. He wasn't totally stupid.

             “Trust me,” Simmons said.

             Grif swallowed and nodded.

             Simmons shifted so he could lay back on Grif's bed, he helped Grif shift around so he was kneeling between his legs. Simmons sat up and took the bottle, squeezing some of the liquid into his hands and coated one of Grif's hands with the slippery liquid. Simmons guided Grif's hand downward.

             “Use one finger for now,” Simmons instructed. Then he saw the slightly lost look on Grif's face. “You have to stretch me, so it hurts less.”

             Grif nodded, his brain finally catching up, almost afraid to speak as he slipped one finger into tight heat. He had almost forgotten how hot the inside of someone else's body felt. He twisted his finger, feeling the sides. Simmons made a pleased sound, so he kept going.

             “Nnn, try two fingers, now,” Simmons said after a few minutes.

             “At the same time?”

             Simmons wanted to hit him. “No, one at a time, numb nuts.”

             Grif followed the orders but not as gently to show that he didn't like the snarkiness, which made Simmons' body twitch and he gave a small cry.

             “Bastard,” he grumbled as soon as he regained control of his voice. But the control was momentary, for his grumbled reply was quickly lost in the moan that followed as Grif slid his fingers almost the entire way out before moving them quickly inside again.

             Simmons summoned enough concentration to reach down with one hand, the hand that still had some lubricant on it, and began stroking Grif's cock. Grif tried to focus, matching his rhythm with Simmons.

             “Okay, I think I'm ready.”

             Grif managed a slight look of horror as he withdrew his hand. “Are you sure? I'm a little bigger than two fingers, you know.”

             A squeak of surprise silenced him as Simmons moved suddenly, pushing Grif back down and pinning him to the mattress by his arms as he ravaged his mouth, Simmons positioned his bottom just above Grif's groin.

             “I told you to trust me,” Simmons reminded him in a whisper. He looked down into his eyes. “If you don't, or you changed your mind, I will understand.”

             Grif met his eyes and it was like his heart stopped. He really did love Simmons, and he could tell by the look in his eyes, that he really loved him back. That was good enough for Grif. He did trust him, with his life and more. He leaned up to kiss him, his hands holding his face, thumbs circling his cheeks. Simmons smiled into the kiss and pressed back. He put one hand on Grif's chest, the other reached down to gently grab the hard rod poking him in the back.

             Simmons broke the kiss, lifting his body slightly and guiding Grif inside of him with a low moan.

             Grif's eyes widened, then his head dropped on the bed as if it weighed a thousand pounds, and the further Simmons took him in, the wider his mouth grew in a silent cry.

             “Breathe, Grif.”

            He gasped, not realizing he was holding his breath at all. His hands flew up and gripped Simmons's shoulders.

             “Are you okay?” Grif asked.

             “Yeah, you?”

             “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

             Simmons chuckled and leaned down to kiss Grif, moving his body up. Grif was glad for the distraction as Simmons slowly pulled his body off of him because he was sure he was going to blow any second. After a few slow strokes, Simmons sped his pace up, keeping his hands on Grif's chest for balance. Grif put his hands on Simmons' waist, pushing his hips up to meet every thrust. He felt one hand trail from his chest down past his stomach and he watched as Simmons squeezed his own cock, stroking it to the rhythm, Grif batted his hand away and replaced it with his own.

             “Dexter,” the name was said in a quiet moan and Grif decided it was the sexiest thing he had every heard in his entire life.

             Small pants and breathy moans escaped from Simmons, sounds that Grif never thought he would ever hear come from the other man and it turned him on more than he ever thought it would. The moans turned into little cries, then Grif felt him tighten impossibly around him, Simmons' head was thrown back and he covered his own mouth to muffle his shout, his cock twitched and spilled seed over Grif's stomach. Grif leaned up to capture Simmons in a kiss, thrusting a few more times before coming to his own completion, murmuring Dick's name into his ear.

             The two fell back on the bed, panting. Grif brought shaky hands up to hug Simmons to him. Simmons nuzzled his face into Grif's neck with a happy sigh.

             After a few moments, Simmons sat up slightly so he could look Grif in the eyes again. Both of them could read what was in the other's eyes; affection, appreciation, admiration, and love.

             Words were unnecessary.

 

** Present Day... **

             Simmons stared, looking shell shocked.

             Grif watched him carefully through the whole story, and now worried at his lower lip.

             The silence continued to drag on and the room was silent.

             Simmons made the first sound, which was nothing more then taking in a deep breath, as if just waking up, it wasn't loud or all that sudden, but it did make Grif jump.

             “You okay?” Grif asked.

             He was shocked to feel those familiar hands on his face, just as they had done on that night, the soft mouth on his, the kiss just as sweet and just as chaste. Before Grif could move, Simmons wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.

             “I was hoping that it would be you,” Simmons whispered in his ear. “This feeling in my chest I got every time I looked at you, those flashes of memories, I didn't want that person to be gone.”

             Grif couldn't really move, and he didn't really want to, so he leaned his head close and his hands rested on Simmons's hips (that was about as far as his hands could go, anyway).

             “Why would you be so worried abut me being gone?” Grif asked.

             “We're in a war, you idiot, we could all die tomorrow. You or I could get transferred, it would be years until we saw each other again, if ever.”

             Grif felt his stomach drop again, it was the same feeling he got when he realized that Simmons could have died during the accident. His fingers flexed on Simmons as he scrambled for a subject change.

             “So, does this mean you remember?” Grif asked, surprised to hear his voice crack slightly.

             Simmons sighed. “Not really, no,” he pulled away slightly to look into his eyes. “I do remember this, now.”

             He kissed Grif again, this time more intimately, very much like he did the night of their first time. His tongue traced his lips, but Grif didn't hesitate to join him.


	12. One More Sleepless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two soldiers' worlds are coming back to normal.

            The days seemed to pass slowly since that night. Simmons did seem to be getting his memories back, just very little at a time. The memories came back in flashes, leading to a lot of dizzy spells, but for the most part, Simmons was growing stronger and learning how to handle it.

            It was like how Grif and Simmons were before; they talked, shared glances, a kiss or two when no one was looking, but nothing more. Grif was a little frustrated by this, but he let it slide. Simmons was worth waiting for the first time, it was more than worth it to wait for him again.

            It had been the fourth night since Simmons found the picture Donut had taken. It was a typical day, a typical evening, the two of them exhausted and thus fell asleep quickly.

            But one of them didn't sleep peacefully.

            Simmons tossed and turned fitfully until his dream forced him to wake up.

            “Dexter!” he cried out, sitting straight up.

            “Huh? What?” Grif of course woke up immediately, sitting up as well. “Simmons? Dick, what's wrong?”

            He didn't answer. Grif got out of his bed and padded over to Simmons, sitting on the edge. He barely touched the mattress before Simmons reached for him and kissed him hard. Grif went with it, a hand going up to stroke his hair until Simmons released him.

            “Hey, talk to me, what happened?”

            Simmons sighed. “I think my brain wants me to die.”

            “Oh? Why is that?”

            “I can't stop thinking about you.”

            “Well, that's nothing new.”

            Simmons scowled at him. “Don't be an asshole.”

            Grif smiled and leaned in to kiss the corner of the scowl. “I can make it up to you if you want.”

            Simmons' eyes widened slightly and he blushed.

            “If you don't want to, it's okay too, you know, you can always tell me no.”

            Simmons' hand shot out to grab onto Grif's, as if to keep him from leaving even though Grif wasn't going anywhere.

            “I do, but, I don't know what to do.”

            The response was a whisper. The look in his eyes, as usual, told Grif what he was thinking, what he wanted. Grif reached up with his free hand, stroking Simmons' cheek with the back of his hand.

            “Do you trust me?” he whispered.

            Simmons leaned into the touch. “Better than that. I love you, Dexter.”

            “I love you too, Dick.”

            Grif smiled, leaning in to press another kiss on Simmons' mouth and push him back down on the bed.

 

       ** _Meanwhile..._**

             In his room, Donut was looking through his camera and using a computer to make a virtual scrapbook. He was grinning to himself, mostly, as he made a page dedicated to Grif and Simmons.

            “Grif and Simmons sitting in a tree, f-u-c-k-i-n-g,” he sang softly, then giggled at his own humor.

            A part of him told him that it wasn't a nice thing to be singing.

            “But everyone knows it's true,” he answered himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/soloshikigami)


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